Читать книгу Blueprint for a Wedding - Melissa McClone, Melissa Mcclone - Страница 11

She was a grand lady built to last. The most beautiful in Berry Patch, Oregon, and she was supposed to be his.

Sitting in his pickup truck, Gabriel Logan stared at the 1908 Craftsman-style mansion—the stone-covered pillars, the multi-paned windows, the exposed beams, the wraparound porch and the three dormers jutting from the long-sloping, gabled roof. She was beautiful, all right. As his heart filled with regret, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

For years, he’d been dreaming, planning and saving for the day he would buy this house. Eighty-one-year-old Miss Larabee had promised it to him until two months ago when she’d received another offer “too good to pass up.” One she didn’t even give him the opportunity to match.

He drummed his fingers against the leather-covered steering wheel. His dog, Frank, raised his head from the passenger’s seat and groaned.

“Sorry, boy.” Gabe scratched behind the giant mastiff’s drooping ears. “It shouldn’t matter. We’re here, right? On time. Might as well get to work.”

But Gabe made no move to get out of the truck.

Today he started work on his dream house. Not as the owner. As the contractor hired to turn it into a B and B. His grandfather must be rolling in his grave. This house was meant for a family—not tourists with a buzz after visiting one of Willamette Valley’s award-winning wineries. Yet Gabe was about to do the dirty work for the mysterious F. S. Addison. He hadn’t spoken with the new owner yet. A mutual friend, Henry Davenport, had made all the arrangements. He’d referred more business than Gabe and his crew could handle, and money continued pouring in.

Talk about ironic.

Bitterness coated his mouth. This was one job he didn’t want. But Gabe didn’t trust anyone else to remodel the house while preserving the character, the charm and the million other things that made it special. Things that made the house a home. What should have been his home.

The title company might not agree, but Gabe and his family had been calling it his house for years.

Frank tried to roll over and expose his belly for rubs, but there wasn’t enough room in the king cab.

“Sorry, boy.” Gabe patted the dog. “We both got screwed this time around. And not in a good way.”

Frank moaned.

“I know the truck is cramped.”

With sad eyes, the dog stared up at him. No doubt Frank missed his custom-built doghouse and the large, fenced yard where he’d had room to roam. Gabe missed them, too.

“But I can’t leave you at Mom and Dad’s during the day. As soon as I have time, I’ll find us another house.”

When Miss Larabee had told him she was moving to an assisted-living facility, he’d had no doubt her house would be his. So he’d made an offer, put his home up for sale, sold it the next day and moved into the studio above his parents’ garage to wait until he could move into Miss Larabee’s house. A good plan. If it had worked out.

Too bad none of his plans had worked out so far. Gabe had once thought he had it all figured out. At eighteen, he’d marry his high-school sweetheart, by the time he was thirty, he’d have a minivan full of kids and be living in the Larabee house. Instead he was thirty-two with no wife, no kids and no place to call home.

He stared at the house.

Sorry, Gramps.

His grandfather had wanted to restore the house, too. Death had robbed him of his dream. And now F. S. Addison had robbed Gabe of his.

Frank pawed at the passenger door.

Reaching over two hundred pounds of tan fur, Gabe opened it. The dog poured himself out, lumbered up the walkway and front steps and plopped down on the shady porch. Even Frank acted as if the house was theirs.

Gabe slapped the steering wheel. This wasn’t going to be easy, but he couldn’t sit in the truck all day.

Time to get moving. The sooner this job was over, the sooner he could get on with his life. He slid out of the truck and sorted through the bucket of blueprints stored in the back of the cab.

Frank barked. Once, twice. A cat? A bloodcurdling-slasher-movie scream cut through the stillness of the summer morning. No, the scream was female, not feline. Gabe sprinted around the front of the truck.

“Frank.”

The dog wasn’t on the porch.

Another bark.

His deep woofs signaled his location like a beacon. Gabe ran toward the sound, around the front of the house to the side yard. He waded through weeds and too-tall grass to find Frank, with his tail wagging, straddling the trunk of an old maple tree. This was where Gabe had pictured his own kids climbing into a canopy of shade and picnicking beneath its dense branches.

“What kind of trouble did you get us into this time?” Gabe asked.

Frank looked up at the tree and panted.

Gabe peered up to see a jeans-clad bottom. A very feminine, round bottom. A white T-shirt was tucked into the waistband. A brown ponytail hung out the back of a navy baseball cap. Frank had chased lots of animals up trees, but this was a first.

“That’s some hunting, boy,” Gabe murmured. He didn’t know whether to punish or praise the hound. “Go.”

The dog moved ten feet away and lay on the grass. Frank kept his head low—his guilty look—and drool ran from the corners of his mouth and pooled on the ground.

A muffled sob floated down from above.

“Are you okay, miss?”

“Is it gone?” a shaky voice asked.

“It?”

“The monster attack d-dog with big teeth. I just wanted to see the front of the house and was walking by…” Her voice was unsure, quiet. Scared.

With five sisters, he knew the sound well. From bugs to snakes to killer clowns, he’d dealt with it all. “You must not be from around here.”

“How did you guess?”

First, he would have remembered that bottom. Second, most people in Berry Patch walked in the early evening after they were done with work and had time to chat with neighbors on the street. And third, she was up a tree. “Everyone in town knows Frank’s bark is worse than his bite.”

“Is Frank short for Frankenstein?”

Gabe grinned. “Frank Lloyd Wright.”

Her mouth tightened. She looked down and nearly lost her sunglasses. “Is he still here?”

“The architect is dead, but the dog is right here.”

“Real funny.” Her voice trembled.

She was really scared. That bothered Gabe. Worried him, too. “Did Frank hurt you?”

“He attacked me.”

That made zero sense. Gabe’s nieces did everything to Frank and the dog never cared. He sopped up love like a dry sponge. He didn’t even mind the baby bibs and bonnets they put on him. “Frank attacked you?”

“Well…not exactly,” she said. “He barked and ran toward me. I didn’t wait to see what he would do next. I saw this tree and ran.”

“Frank’s got a bad hip so he lumbers more than runs. Though if he gets excited he can sprint for a short distance,” Gabe said. “He must have wanted some attention.”

“Or breakfast.”

Gabe wouldn’t mind a taste himself. Another place, another time… “Come on down out of that tree. Frank might look intimidating, but he’s as harmless as a pup.”

“Cujo, or your average menacing canine that runs in a pack?”

Scared or not, she was showing some spunk. Gabe grinned. “Newborn puppy. Nearly blind.”

She scooted down, bringing her bare ankle and generic white canvas slip-on shoes to his eye level.

“It’s okay,” he encouraged. “Frank only wanted to play with you.”

“I…I don’t play with dogs.”

“I won’t hold it against you.”

Gabe hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, but she intrigued him. Berry Patch didn’t get many visitors, especially young females who could scale trees the way she had. He wondered why she was in town, where she was staying and for how long. Mr. and Mrs. Ritchey, the next-door neighbors, had a daughter who attended a swanky college on the East Coast. Was this one of Brianna Ritchey’s friends? He hoped not. Though Gabe didn’t like his women that young, if this were Brianna’s friend, he would take both girls out to make amends.

“How about I take you out to dinner tonight to make up for Frank chasing you?” Gabe asked.

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.”

“Another night?”

No answer. Shot down. Ouch. He’d dated most of the available women in town and still hadn’t found what he was looking for. Guess he’d have to keep looking.

She tried to find her footing. Not an easy thing to do in those shoes.

“I’m sorry Frank scared you,” Gabe said. “He really is a good dog.”

“I don’t like dogs,” she mumbled.

A huge strike against her, but he really liked the way her jeans fit. And based on that ponytail, her hair had to be long. He liked long hair. “Why not?”

She scooted farther down the tree. “I got bit when I was little.”

His sisters had trained him well. He knew the necessary response. “That must have been scary. Was it a big dog or one of those ankle-biting, yipping rat dogs?”

“A rat dog.”

The sound of her voice made him think she was smiling. Good. He didn’t want her to be afraid. “Those little dogs will get you every time. They’re so small they have to assert their dominance.”

“Kind of like men driving cars and trucks with more horsepower than they’ll ever need.”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “Though some men do need that extra horsepower. Egos are pretty heavy to haul around.”

“Not many men would admit that.”

“I’m not ‘many men.’”

She glanced down at him, but her sunglasses hid her eyes. “What do you drive?”

He rocked back on his heels. “A pickup with heavy-duty hauling capacity.”

He caught a glimmer of a smile.

She climbed down a few more inches. He could see the back of her T-shirt, the band and straps of her bra showing through the stretchy white fabric.

“Would you like help?” he asked.

“I can do it myself.”

He knew better than to interfere with a woman on a mission. His mother had taught him that one. “I’m sure you can.”

Just then, she lost her footing and slid. He placed his hands on her hips to keep her from falling. She was soft and curvy in all the right places. Her scent, sunshine and grapefruit, surrounded him. Now this was the way to start a morning. Maybe today wouldn’t be so terrible after all. He would have to reward Frank with a bone later. Gabe smiled as he lowered her from the tree.

She stood in front of him and brushed her palms against her thighs. “Thank you.”

Gabe believed females were gifts from above. They deserved to be cherished and adored. He loved women, but he could really love the one standing in front of him. “At your service, milady.”

Most of the women he knew liked a little chivalry, but her full lips didn’t break into a smile as he expected. She did raise her chin, giving him a better view of her face. If only she’d remove those sunglasses so he could see her eyes. She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, but she didn’t need any. She was lovely. A natural beauty. With a straight, thin nose, generous lips and high cheekbones any model would die for. Her only flaw was a smudge of dirt on her right cheek and that just made her cuter. Though cute and the way the T-shirt stretched over her breasts didn’t belong in the same sentence. His temperature shot up.

Something about her rang a bell. Several actually. “Have we met before?”

“No,” she said. “I only arrived yesterday afternoon.”

Not even nine o’clock on her first morning in town and he’d already met her. Not bad timing. In fact, perfect timing. He definitely owed Frank a treat.

Gabe tried to place where he knew her. “You look familiar.”

She pressed her lips together. “I must have one of those faces.”

“You’re too beautiful to be just a face in the crowd.”

She shrugged.

Her indifference didn’t sway him. “I know you from somewhere. It’s going to come to me.”

A squirrel scampered through the overgrown yard. Frank barked, stood on all fours and trotted toward them.

The woman gasped and grabbed hold of Gabe. Her sunglasses flew off. Her hat fell back and long, wavy brown hair cascaded down. She buried her face against him.

He pulled her close. He liked the way she felt in his arms, probably more than he should, but he didn’t like the way she trembled; it was worse than one of those Chihuahuas Frank could use as a squeak toy.

“Sit.”

Frank obeyed. The action made the time and money of puppy kindergarten and dog-obedience training worth it.

“On the porch. Now.”

The dog loped his way to the front of the house.

Gabe continued to hold the woman, waiting for the rapid beating of her heart to slow. Finally it did. “You okay?”

She didn’t say a word, but clung to him. It was nice. Though he wished it were under different circumstances. Say, mouth-watering attraction rather than overwhelming fear.

“It’s okay if you aren’t,” he said. “I kind of like standing here with you in my arms. Doesn’t happen to a guy like me every day. Now every other day…”

She laughed. He liked the sound.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

A slight hesitation. “Faith.”

“Pretty name,” he said. “I’m Gabe. And we have a problem, Faith.”

She tightened her grip. “Frank?”

“He can be a problem, but no, we have another one. You can’t see from where you’re standing, but Mrs. Henry is peeking out of her miniblinds from across the street and she’s got her phone in her hand. She’s real tight with Mrs. Bishko and Mrs. Lloyd. The three of them like to keep the fine citizens of Berry Patch informed of all the happenings in town. I don’t need that and I doubt you do, either.”

“Oh, no. That would be bad.” She backed out of his arms. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The first thing he noticed was her hair. The color wasn’t simply brown, but oiled teak with copper highlights glimmering in the morning sun. Long strands hung over her face, and she flipped those behind her shoulders with a simple motion of her head.

Gabe drew in a quick, sharp breath.

They had never met, but he knew her. Knew all about her. Why hadn’t he recognized her immediately? She was, in a word, unforgettable.

The full, kissable lips that curved into an easy smile at the drop of a pin and melted even the coldest heart. The soulful, expressive green eyes that saw everything and made a man question his worth. The wavy mane of chestnut hair meant for covering a pillow or a man’s chest. Oh, yeah, he knew exactly who she was. Just like every other person who went to the movies or breathed.

“You’re the actress,” he said. “Faith Starr.”

She looked away. “That’s my stage name.”

Exactly. Faith was a movie star. One of the most beautiful people in the world. Famous, rich, important. Someone who did not belong here, and he’d asked her out to dinner. Still it would make a good story. Not many men in Berry Patch got the chance to be shot down by a famous actress. “Are they filming a movie around here?”

Faith’s mouth drew tight. She put her baseball cap and sunglasses back on. “No.”

Funny, but now that he knew who she was, Faith looked more like a famous person with those things on than off.

“What brings you to Berry Patch?” Gabe asked.

“A friend lives here.”

He knew everyone in town. “Who is that?”

“Henry Davenport.”

“He’s a friend of mine, too,” Gabe said.

She furrowed her brows. “You’re a friend of Henry’s?”

“I know his wife.” Gabe knew what she was thinking. How could a contractor be the friend of a billionaire? “She’s my sister Theresa’s best friend.”

The edges of Faith’s mouth curved upward in a slight smile. Her tension seemed to ease. “Henry Davenport married. I still can’t believe it. Husband. Father. Farmer. The Henry I knew wasn’t interested in anything but having a good time.”

“Nothing wrong with having a good time.” That’s what Gabe had. One good time after another, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Not really. A part of him envied Henry. Not for all his money, but for what he’d found on the Wheeler Berry Farm. Years ago Gabe had thought he’d found the same thing—the woman of his dreams who wanted to raise a family in Berry Patch and live happily ever after. He’d been wrong. “But Henry and Elisabeth are perfect together.”

“That’s what Henry told me.” Faith’s smile widened. The effect—dazzling. “I’m so happy for him. I can’t wait to meet his wife.”

Faith’s happiness seemed genuine. Maybe there was more to her than her movie-goddess image. More than her reputation as a runaway bride and heartbreaker. As she stared at the wraparound porch where Frank lay, she narrowed her lips. Then again, maybe not.

“Are you staying a few days?” Gabe asked.

“Actually I plan to stay much longer.”

Yeah, right. Someone like Faith would never last more than a couple weeks in this small, quiet town. A month at the most. She would get bored, long for the excitement of a big city and leave. The ambitious ones, women like his ex-wife, always did.

“I’m going to like it here,” Faith added. “It’s a cute place.”

“You haven’t been here when it rains. Cute wears off real fast.” Though a few nights at the cheesy hotel near Highway 99 or one of the homey, not-so-elegant B and Bs nearby would probably have the same effect. “Where are you staying?”

“Here.”

“Here?”

She smiled. “I bought this house.”

No.

“Is your last name Addison?” he croaked out the words. “F. S. Addison?”

“I’m Faith Starr Addison. Starr is my middle name and my mother’s name.” She drew her brows together. “How did you know?”

He ignored the question. “You bought this house from Miss Larabee?”

Faith nodded. “She’s so sweet. She reminds me of my late grandmother. We met for the first time last night at dinner. We watched one of my movies together.”

“Dinner and a movie?”

“Yes.” Faith adjusted her baseball cap. “She asked me for my autograph. She was so cute.”

Gabe fought a wave of nausea. He remembered Miss Larabee’s one great passion—the movies. She’d once dreamed of being an actress. Damn. Dinner with a movie star must have been the offer “too good to pass up.”

Still that didn’t explain her selling the house to Faith. Not after he’d shared his own dreams about the house with Miss Larabee over tea during his weekly visits—dreams of restoring the house the way his grandfather had always wanted to do and raising a family here. Guess that couldn’t compare to dinner with flighty and flaky Faith, as the press called her, who merely had to learn to smile and speak on cue and steal people’s dreams.

She sighed with apparent satisfaction. “Henry was right when he told me it would be perfect for a B and B.”

Gabe froze. He couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. But he had to. He had to know. “You asked Henry to find you a B and B here in town?”

“No, I’d never heard of Berry Patch,” she said. “I hadn’t spoken with Henry in months, but he called out of the blue to say hi. We were catching up when I told him about looking for a B and B to buy and he explained how Berry Patch is an up-and-coming tourist destination in the heart of wine country.”

Movie star turned innkeeper? That made no sense. “Why would you want a B and B?”

She stiffened. “I always thought I’d go into the hotel business someday.”

“I can’t see you as innkeeper.”

She raised her chin. “I spent a lot of time working at inns and B and Bs when I was a teenager.” A slight smile formed on her lips. “You should taste my stuffed French toast.”

An invitation? He didn’t think so. Besides Gabe wasn’t interested. She was the enemy. Hell, she was his worst nightmare. The kind of woman his ex-wife had wanted to be. And now he worked for her on a house that should belong to him.

“After Henry told me about this house, he e-mailed me pictures. I made an offer that day. Everything went so smoothly I have to believe it was fate.”

Not fate. Henry. Damn him.

Gabe felt as if he’d been hit in the gut. And it was his friend, Henry, throwing the punches. A mix of emotions swirled inside Gabe. Anger, frustration, betrayal. He clenched his fists.

It was all Henry’s fault.

No, it wasn’t. Henry didn’t know about Gabe’s dream of owning this house. It wasn’t something they discussed over beers at The Vine. He had only shared the plan of his life with his family and Miss Larabee.

“Is something wrong?” Faith asked.

Very wrong. And now he knew why.

The owner’s notes—containing glitzy, glamorous and thoroughly modern changes to the remodeling plans—he’d received via Henry suddenly made a lot more sense. Gabe didn’t like the notes or her.

“You aren’t what I expected,” he said finally.

“I never am,” she murmured with a faraway look in her eyes. But in a moment, her gaze sharpened. “So I have a couple of questions for you. Who are you? And why is your dog sleeping on my front porch?”

My front porch.

Gabe bristled at the words. Resentment overflowed. There was so much he wanted to say to her. “I quit” was tops on the list. He glanced at the house.

Remember what’s important.

It wasn’t Faith. Or him.

It was this house.

His grandfather had been obsessed with restoring it for as long as Gabe could remember. It hadn’t taken long for him to feel the same way. Each time the bus passed by here on his way to school, his own desire had intensified. But when he’d accompanied his grandfather to fix a leak for Miss Larabee, something had happened. Something that went deeper than the house.

Even though Gabe had only been fourteen at the time, everything he wanted in life had crystallized during that first visit—a wife, kids, a dog and this house. The perfect family living the perfect life in the perfect house.

A life totally different from his own.

His family had been far from perfect. Too many kids, too many animals and a house that was nothing more than fodder for a wrecking ball.

He wanted that perfect life. Desperately.

Gabe had made a plan and set out to achieve it. He’d married the girl of his dreams right after high-school graduation. Next on the list were children. But his wife hadn’t wanted to stay in Berry Patch. He hadn’t wanted to leave. So they’d divorced.

But he wasn’t about to let his dream die. Unlike his father, when Gabe made a plan he stuck to it. So what if his first wife hadn’t gone along with his blueprint for a perfect life? So what if Henry had messed up Gabe’s chance of buying this house? So what if Miss Larabee had sold the house out from under him?

Gabe wasn’t giving up.

He had to remain strong, steadfast, to protect the house from Faith.

Already the second floor suffered from remuddling—what happened when remodeling destroyed the character of a home—and he wasn’t about to allow any more damage to be done. And that’s what would happen if he followed through with the changes suggested by F. S. Addison. But Gabe wasn’t about to do that. He would succeed with the Larabee house where his grandfather had failed with the farmhouse Gabe grew up in. The mess of a house his parents still called home.

While Gabe was growing up, his father had ignored Grandpa’s suggestions about remodeling the house. Instead of having a plan, his father took whatever extra money he had and simply added on whatever space he thought they needed most. But the money never lasted due to a tractor needing a new engine or some other farming mishap, so his dad just stopped whatever he was building. He never finished anything. Gabe’s bedroom had been nothing more than drywall and Astroturf for more years than he cared to remember. He’d had to finish it himself when he got older. And his sister Cecilia’s room, too. If not for him, the house would still be a bunch of unfinished rooms and additions.

“Are you going to answer my questions?” She sounded annoyed he’d ignored her for so long.

It was just the sort of snotty pay-attention-to-me-now attitude he expected from the actress, but she was the client. And until she got tired of the country and this house, he was stuck with her.

“Frank is asleep on the porch because he goes wherever I go.” With Gabe’s emotions firmly tucked back in place, his tone was cool but professional. “I’m Gabriel Logan. The contractor you hired to remodel the house.”